Can You Dance in the Dark?
by Soquilii
Summary: Eliot's latest encounter with Mikél Dayan reveals her true nature WARNING: MATURE CONTENT. SCENES OF BONDAGE. NC-17.


**Can You Dance in the Dark?**

MATURE CONTENT/BONDAGE/NC17

Eliot's latest encounter with Mikél Dayan reveals her true nature ~~~~~~

A fight, almost to the death, in the bowels of a Boston auction house…playing headgames…a couple of beers at John McRory's…and a possible encounter in Myanmar in 2003. Yeah, they'd met before. Sort of like ships passing in the night. So near, yet so far…except for the fight. They were up close and personal in that one. He had a scar on his brow to prove it.

Man, that chick knew how to _fight_! Her reputation was known worldwide; he knew Mikél Dayan well. As this job was going down he caught the first glimpse of her in the hallway with all the buck-naked statues. She was speaking Hebrew into a cell phone, saying _I didn't understand, what?_ Probably talking to her boss. She spotted him and shifted her feet, looking for all the world like an uncaged leopard. Sultry. Dangerous.

'Best clear out,' he told her. She didn't answer right away. 'Don't speak English?'

'You speak Hebrew?' She countered…in Hebrew.

He nodded. She shifted her feet and brought her fists up. He dropped into a knife hand strike position. They played headgames in the hall for a few minutes, psyching each other out, even using swords, annihilating everyone in the building…until their respective bosses called a halt to the fun.

During the planning phase of that particular job he'd told Hardison about her. 'She'd mop the floor with ya, Hardison…seriously…she actually killed a guy once with a mop.'

Then in the basement among hot pipes…very hot…both were sweating bullets…shucking off their jackets…when she said in perfect English, _You wouldn't hit a girl, would you; _he replied in Hebrew, _Not unless she hits me first._

He didn't really take her seriously until he felt the first punch. He didn't expect a slender broad with streaming brown hair and such a nice rack to be able to deliver blows that hard and block so swiftly; like Bruce Lee in drag. Then it got serious; she knocked him against a pipe, splitting his brow. That did it. Ignoring the discomfort of his groin betraying him, he went at her, finally ensnaring her in a wrestler's hold; pissed off and incredibly horny at the same time. With both their hearts pounding, sweat trickling, muscles trembling, he tightened his grip on her until her breasts were shoved so high they were damn near in his mouth. He knew she felt him pulsating through his jeans. The kiss that resulted was mutual. Then handcuffs clicked and he raised her cuffed hand with his. _Gotcha_, said his expression. She merely hummed a non-verbal communication which spoke volumes and he replied in the same manner. Disappointingly, nothing came of the encounter except a beer at McRory's and a Lethal-Weapon/Gibson/Russo comparison of scars.

And now here she was, in this smoky bar in Portland.

What greeting wouldn't sound like a damned cliché? A simple _hello_...No. _What're you doin' in Portland_…No. _Long time no see?_ _Hell_, no. He decided on his usual; albeit in Hebrew. 'How ya doin' Mikél?'

'It's nice to see you remember me, Spencer.' That same haughty, mysterious tone, flavored with the accents of the Holy Land…anything but holy.

She slid upon the stool beside him. He knew better than to order for her. 'Blue Heron,' she said, tossing her long, dark hair back. It fell just past the bar stool seat, straight, brown, delicious-looking. 'And what are you drinking?'

'Dark Rain. Bridgeport brewery – same as yours,' he replied.

'I like the color.'

'Matches the weather.'

Thunder shook the building; it was raining buckets outside. The lightning that flashed through the windows mirrored the unspoken spark between them. Her beer arrived; she guzzled a third of it greedily.

Eliot took a long swallow. Cliché or not, he had to know. 'So what brings you to Portland?'

'A little business. I just finished a job in LA and must return to Tel Aviv within the week.'

'LA to Tel Aviv via Portland, huh?'

'Pleasure follows business, Spencer. You should know that.'

'So what's in Portland?'

_'You.'_

He locked eyes with her. She drained her drink just as someone hit a slow song on the jukebox.

'Shall we?' she asked.

Eliot's idea of dancing meant slow swaying in one spot. He followed her to the small dance floor where about four other couples were entwined, barely moving. He'd fit right in.

'Is this not better than fighting, Eliot?' First time she'd used his given name. He had to agree; her pear glacé was pleasuring his nose while her breasts caressed his chest. Her arms were around his neck and his at her waist. He leaned in for a kiss; at that moment the power failed completely; the lights went out; the jukebox died and everyone stood stock still in pitch blackness. The power was not immediately restored which meant problems. People began voicing complaints.

Mikél was not discouraged. She whispered in his ear, 'Can you dance in the dark, Eliot?'

She resumed swaying; her tongue circling his ear. Her intentions were all too obvious.

Suddenly, taking him completely by surprise, she pulled him off the dance floor and led him out into the cold rain to a cab. She gave the driver the address of the best hotel in town. ~~~~~

Eliot was pumped; cold, wet, but edgy with anticipation. Mikél led him into her lavish suite. She vanished into the bathroom and came out completely nude. She began slowly taking off his wet clothes. He allowed it.

'Come with me,' she said.

He followed her willingly into the warm shower, a tropical steambath that overcame the chill of the rain. Eliot's hair flowed around his shoulders as he took her in his arms. Soap was not required; this was foreplay in a warm, wet, private setting. Delicious.

She brought him out of the shower and toweled him off. As she knelt to dry his legs her lips brushed his lower abdomen. Eliot groaned, brushing his wet hair off his forehead. He was fully erect now.

'Ah,' she said, observing his reaction. 'Let's have a drink first…for a special night, hmm?' She gave him a small glass of clear liquid. 'It's Arak…from my country. Usually it's poured over ice, but I think we have had enough of the cold, don't you agree?' She smiled, watching him bolt the liquid and took her own in one gulp.

'Come to bed, Spencer.' The large bed was already turned down. Eliot sank facedown onto its fresh softness. The world went dark. ~~~~~

When he came to, he was thirsty. Groggily he reached for the nightstand, thinking there might be a beer or a bottle of water; for a minute he thought he was home. He couldn't reach anything. He craned his neck upward. His hands were encircled with cuffs and anchored above his head. He couldn't move anything else, either, not more than a few inches, for he was naked on the bed, bound by restraints. He knew instantly he'd been drugged; by whom immediately followed that thought.

_'Mikél!'_

She came instantly within his line of vision. 'I am here, Eliot. I wanted to wait until you awoke. It's more pleasurable that way, don't you agree? Besides, I'm not into necrophilia. You were out like a light.'

_'Because you freaking drugged me! Why?!'_

'You should know me by now, Spencer. They say I'm ruthless; that I enjoy the thrill of high risk missions. _You're_ a high risk mission…aren't you?'

'It's not enough for me to make love to you? I was ready for that. I wanted it. But you have to do this? What's _wrong_ with you?'

'Call me a sociopath. I like it _my_ way. I just have one question for you, Spencer.' She had approached the bed, straddled him and dangled her breasts against his chest. Anger fought with lust as he swiftly became erect again.

Her hair fell across his face, smothering him. She leaned down close and whispered in his ear, _'Can you dance in the dark? ~~~~~_

Eliot had survived torture in many a dark dungeon but this exquisite version just about topped anything he had experienced. Along with his restraints, Mikél blindfolded him. She allowed him only sound and touch, running her tongue over his entire body but never touching what needed touching. He'd given up trying to get his hands free. Whatever held him was beyond his means. It was pleasurable up to a point, but in the back of his mind he knew this woman would just as soon kill him as fuck him. What was she planning; what would follow this strange experience? Those uneasy thoughts took his mind off his throbbing penis for a few seconds but she whipped him back into a frenzy, teasing unmercifully; taking her tongue around his groin, over belly and thighs but never near where he most needed it. She hovered her body over his. His mouth could not reach her nipples. It was excruciating.

His breath came hard. 'Mikél…_stop_ this,' he gasped.

Her voice was as cool as a Nazi officer in the interrogation room. 'Now why should I do that? I'm enjoying myself.'

'I'm _not_. It _hurts_, goddamn it, now stop it!'

'But I'm not touching to injure you, Eliot.'

She was going to keep it up until he went crazy. Chick was abnormal. Fucking abnormal.

The tight blindfold held his eyes shut. He squeezed his eyelids even tighter. The art of Zen was the only way he was going to be able to make it through this. His trained mind transitioned to another state; his breathing slowed; his pulse rate went down. She stopped sucking his nipples long enough to listen to the break in the patterns of his body.

He was winning. She couldn't allow that.

He felt the bed jerk with her movements; without warning, she impaled herself so quickly on him the pain made him yelp. The Zen technique failed when his autonomic reflexes took over and his body assumed command. With as much physical leeway as he could muster, he pumped into her with all the force his back muscles could generate. Dammit, he needed his hands free! He strained his arms against the cuffs in vain.

She leaned back as if to press him to her G-spot but instead, she keyed and released the cuffs around his ankles. Leaning forward, she swiftly released his hands. Infuriated, Eliot tore the blindfold away, looped an arm around her waist and slammed her to the bed beneath him.

'Check _this_ out, bitch!' he yelled. He held her down and pounded her viciously until they both came, screaming, sweating and shaking. Afterward, he rolled off, indifferently, and waited until his respiration returned somewhat to normal. The lust had dissipated leaving only heaving rage. He got off the bed.

'Did you fucking get what you wanted?!' he shouted.

She came up on her elbows and stared at him from beneath lowered lids. 'As it seems you did, Spencer.' She found and crumpled the blindfold into her fist.

'Hey…this isn't my style. You are the…goddamnit, you're _damaged goods_, lady!'

She got off the bed. Languidly, she approached him. 'Eliot,' she said softly, 'would you rather fight…'

Before she could finish her sentence, his hand shot out and clamped around her throat. 'That's not a bad idea,' he said in a deep, raspy tone. Some dark part of him played it out in his mind: he could kill her now by simple suffocation or draw it out, punching that beautiful face into a pulp or striking her solar plexus, watching her breasts bounce. Yeah, he could get off on that.

She didn't struggle. She shook out the blindfold. Raising both hands, she tied it around her eyes, after which she finished her sentence:

…or would you rather find out if _I_ can dance in the dark?

THE END


End file.
